


You're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night

by frostysunflowers



Series: May your days be merry and bright [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bonding, Christmas Decorations, Dead May Parker (Spider-Man), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark is Good With Kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21794998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/pseuds/frostysunflowers
Summary: 'The first of December means that it’s been four months since Peter moved in.Four months since May collapsed in the middle of the tinned food aisle at the grocery store.Four months since Peter received a call during fourth period to tell him that his aunt, his only remaining family, had died of a sudden heart attack, leaving him with nobody.Except Tony.'
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: May your days be merry and bright [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1638517
Comments: 25
Kudos: 524





	You're a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter's night

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt 'Don't you own any Christmas decorations' on tumblr. 
> 
> Title taken from the Bastille cover of 'I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore' - great song! 
> 
> I don't really know what this is apart from just a spew of mushy feelings to deal with a recent personal loss.

''Morning."

Tony looks up from his coffee, giving Peter a smile as he shuffles into the kitchen. "Morning, Underoos. Sleep okay?"

Peter wiggles his hand in a so-so gesture as he slips into a seat at the counter. ''Managed a few hours.''

Tony nods, grateful for the honesty in a way that he knows Peter can sense. ''Dreams again?''

''Not really,'' Peter shrugs his shoulders, ''just...couldn’t sleep.''

It’s hardly the worst thing in the world. There’s plenty of reasons why it can happen; something as simple as napping too long in the day or worrying about something that will ultimately be alright in the end.

But this isn’t like that.

Tony knows what it’s like to be haunted, to be stretched so far between the space of restless and exhausted, and he can see the same stains of it all over Peter’s face, the way it presses into his shoulders and knots his posture. 

It’s inconsistent. Sometimes a light shines through the darkness; a smile here, a real laugh there, a sassy remark that has Tony raising his eyebrows and chuckling in relief to hear it. 

And then sometimes, like today, the darkness surrounds Peter like trick glass, trying to taint him a shade of convincing that doesn’t quite fool Tony’s gaze. 

Peter meets his eyes as Tony goes for another sip of coffee. 

''It’s...uh, it’s the first of December today.''

Tony stills for a second, just enough for his coffee to gently splash against his lips and trickle into his goatee. 

The first of December. 

How could he not have noticed? How did he not realise it was approaching? He’d just last week gone over a ridiculous amount of dates with Pepper for meetings, conventions and galas that he would in no way be attending, and somehow this had completely slipped his attention. 

The first of December means that it’s been four months since Peter moved in. 

Four months since May collapsed in the middle of the tinned food aisle at the grocery store. 

Four months since Peter received a call during fourth period to tell him that his aunt, his only remaining family, had died of a sudden heart attack, leaving him with nobody. 

Except Tony. 

Wiping the coffee away with the back of his hand, Tony sets his mug back down slowly, fighting for every second he can get while his mind tries to process a plan, tries to conceive a coherent enough thought that he can actually say out loud. 

His thoughts land on that first night; the moment where his and Peter’s roles in each other’s lives changed irrevocably. 

Peter standing beneath the fluorescent hospital lights, trembling from head to toe, too dumbstruck to even feel the sorrow that Tony knew would soon snatch him up in its ugly grasp. 

Happy had slipped past to speak to a nurse while Tony eased the kid down into a chair, rubbing his shoulders as though trying to warm the shock right out of him. He didn’t need to look at Happy’s ashen face as he walked back over to know what they were dealing with, but he did anyway, heart twisting like a corkscrew at the pain in his friend’s eyes.

Pain for Peter. 

It’s followed them ever since, straight out of the hospital doors and into the tempo of everyday life, all the things that seemed so trivial before suddenly magnified beyond all reason for how much it hurt. 

And it’s hardly been a blur of time. If anything, it’s like time slowed down the second May disappeared from the world. 

Tony remembers each day, each uncertain morning sitting across from a red-eyed Peter; explaining to Peter's school that yes he was Tony Stark and yes he would be the one looking after Peter from now on; taking apart the toaster, the microwave and sticking googly eyes on the Roomba as a way of distracting himself the first night Peter went back on patrol. 

The thing was currently scooting along by his feet, eyes wiggling back and forth as it vibrated with the force of suction, tugging on the edge of Tony's sock until he moved out of the way. 

Tony remembers the seasons changing, ordering in a new coat for Peter to replace his threadbare jacket and Peter locking himself in his room for two days. 

He remembers the tears that would stay hidden behind closed doors and the furious, grief-curdled rage that Peter tried to fight so hard against but ultimately loses out to every once in a while, losing himself to a place that even Tony couldn’t reach.

But there’s glimmers of brightness too; little reminders of how life can be when sorrow isn’t holding everything in a choking grip. 

Taking the kid out for pizza with Rhodey and watching chocolate milkshake shoot out of his nose when he laughed at one of the more wilder stories from their MIT days. 

Peter shuffling in after school and flopping down beside Tony on the couch, wearing faded hoodies that definitely don’t belong to him.

Lab days where everything but the two of them and their little space of wonder slips away, leaving them peaceful and momentarily free . 

They tick along, bobbing back and forth on the scale of good and not good; a daily flux that Tony can barely keep up, hard as he tries. 

Thanksgiving had come and gone without ceremony. Peter, after finding himself on the receiving end of a pissed off mad scientist wielding heavy artillery, celebrated the holiday hooked up to a steady stream of pain relief to ease him through the recovery of a broken leg and a gunshot wound to the shoulder. Tony, quite selfishly and very horribly, was oddly grateful, having spent the weeks previous dreading the occasion, wondering how the hell he was supposed to navigate Peter through it. 

On some level, he suspects that Peter had been worrying about the same thing. Foolhardy and reckless as he may be sometimes, the kid isn’t stupid, and going after that nutcase alone had definitely not been one of his smartest moves. 

So he got through Thanksgiving by Peter’s bedside, refusing any offerings of food from Rhodey and Pepper, smiling softly when the kid woke up every few hours for a sip of water before tapping out again, leaving Tony to fidget restlessly in his chair, wrestling with the guilt of his emotions. 

He can, at least in some respects, handle Peter being injured; can actually _do_ something about it and help to make things right again. 

He can’t do a thing about May being dead. 

Broken bones can be mended and wounds can be stitched up and tears of pain can be brushed away, but trying to do battle against the agony of loss is like walking into a gunfight without a gun, and Tony has never been one for losing. 

And now Christmas is looming, bringing with it a whole new truckload of _stuff_ that sure as hell has no place beneath a garishly decorated tree, and the panic is starting anew, cracking him right through the middle so everything feels sharp and harsh. 

It’s unavoidable, and in a way, Tony doesn’t actually want to avoid it. The part of him, the small, buried all the way deep down part of him that has secretly longed for a little more than what he has, pictures something quiet and cosy, much like the Christmas he had shared with May and Peter last year. 

Pepper, Rhodey and Happy had been there too, the six of them cramming around the small dining table in the Parker apartment, elbows knocking together as they pulled crackers and passed around plates heaping with food that had avoided being burnt in May’s oven. 

It wasn’t like the rambunctious but strangely wonderful affair that he had shared with Steve and the others, but it was still something warm and pleasant; something Tony wanted to be a part of again and again. 

He regrets not appreciating it more, not taking in every detail of what every little bit had looked like, because now they’re here, just him and Peter, on the first of December with what can only be a turbulent road ahead of them. 

''We could…'' Peter says, breaking Tony out of himself, ''decorate?''

''Yeah,'' Tony agrees immediately, mouth reacting ahead of his brain. ''Great idea, kid, let’s do it.''

''Really?'' Peter blinks, looking surprised. 

''Sure. Let’s festive spirit the hell outta this place.''

Peter smiles, shoulders jerking in a small laugh. ''Okay, awesome. Do you keep your decorations in the attic?'' He casts a considering glance up at the ceiling. ''Uh, does this place even _have_ an attic?''

''No attic,'' Tony confirms. 

''So where do you keep them?''

Tony shrugs, not entirely sure why this feels like a moment where he needs to panic. 

The house in Malibu had been where he’d spent the majority of his Christmases in recent years and when that had been destroyed, it had taken a lot of things with it, including the small collection of decorations that had been in the house, namely a sparkly silver tree and the well loved stockings that had hung over the mantle. 

Relocating to the tower and having the team move in had led to an insane moment in which Tony purchased the most obscene amount of decorations probably known to anyone outside of a department store. Or the person who ran the decorating committee for Stark Industries.

They were, of course, all Avengers themed. 

A whole day had been dedicated to covering every inch of the place with gaudy stretches of tinsel and strings of rainbow fairy lights, the common room and kitchen turning into an utter crash zone of holiday cheer. The tree had been far too big, leaving all of them using their most creative methods to get the decorations onto it. 

Between Bruce nearly braining himself on the floor after getting tangled up in a set of Hulk lights, Clint using his arrows to shoot baubles adorned with their faces up to the top and Thor getting over excited and causing a mini blackout, it had been totally worth it. 

He doesn’t know where those decorations disappeared to after everything happened. He suspects Rhodey and Pepper might have had something to do with it, but he doesn’t need to go searching to know that they aren’t in the penthouse anymore. 

''Don’t you own any Christmas decorations?'' Peter asks, clearly quite confused. 

There’s probably boxes of decorations stashed somewhere in the storage unit that currently houses all of the belongings that Peter hadn’t brought with him to the tower. Amongst cases of May’s clothes and collections of frames photos and boxes of family heirlooms, there’s no doubt masses of ageing tinsel and temperamental fairy lights tangled up together, along with homemade decorations made by a younger Peter that have been treasured and hung up every year without fail. 

But not this year. 

Tony doesn’t dare ask; doesn’t want to see Peter’s face do that _thing_ where it crumples, then tries to right itself before anyone can see the hurt. 

''We could just steal some from downstairs,'' Tony suggests, thinking of the light show taking place on all the floors below their feet. ''But where’s the fun in that?'' he adds as Peter’s face starts to cloud over with disappointment. ''Grab your coat, kiddo, we’re going shopping.''

* * *

''Look, Mister Stark!''

Tony manages not to flinch as something loud and shiny is shoved under his nose. Tilting his head back, he sees that it’s a rather wonky looking elf, bobbing brokenly from side to side as it warbles out a horrible rendition of Jingle Bell Rock. 

It goes into the cart before Tony can protest, settling in with the mess of offensive noise and tasteless decorations that physically hurt Tony’s eyes if he looks too long. 

He pulls his cap down as a bickering couple march past, overflowing cart knocking into theirs and setting off the assortment of musical characters lining the shelves nearest Tony. 

When he’d suggested shopping, he’d certainly had something else in mind, but had left his faith in Peter to choose somewhere suitable to find what they need. 

He knows now to not make that mistake again. 

Tony’s taken down terrorists, stared into the endless abyss of space, braved Pepper’s wrath early on a Monday morning, but this right here is by far the closest definition of Hell if he’s ever seen it. 

Corny Christmas music blares out from above a sea of seasonal horror; a mass of people swarming through aisles of a store that holds absolutely _everything._

Tony spares a glance at a pair of silk boxers dangling from a reindeer figurine and shudders. 

He’s about a minute away from jogging for the exit, willing to use rather unsavoury methods to get himself through the crowds if necessary, to get him away from this festive nightmare. 

Then he catches sight of the smile on Peter’s face as he holds out a Grinch plush, wiggling it in Tony’s direction, and the irritation melts like frost on a sunny morning, leaving him startlingly warm and suddenly eager to see more. 

So he doesn’t say a word as more things fly into the cart: glittery Christmas tree ornaments, baubles with smiling Snowmen on them, tinsel in all shades of red and gold and blue and a huge tub of baubles the size of melons. 

He knows Peter set a budget, a horrendously small one in Tony’s mind, but he keeps that thought to himself as he watches Peter silently mouth prices to himself as he makes his decisions. 

They pause for a long while by the fairy lights; long enough for Tony to consider crawling onto one of the shelves and taking shelter as a group of kids rush past, screeching at the top of their lungs as a couple of oblivious looking parents stroll along after them. 

''Mister Stark? How many of these do you think we’d need for outside the tower?''

Tony eyes the selection critically. ''More than I’m willing to fathom, kid.''

He convinces Peter to grab some of the lights that don’t look too likely to induce a seizure and begins to steer him towards the checkouts, more than desperate to get this trip over with. 

The line is long; agonisingly so, but Tony endures it and Peter’s subtle hints about decorating the outside of the tower because, well, the smile on Peter’s face is still there, its longest uninterrupted appearance so far. 

''But it’ll be so awesome - ''

''You are not slingshotting yourself around the tower with strings of fairy lights,'' Tony orders, jabbing a finger in Peter’s direction, narrowing his eyes when the kid innocently widens his own. ''Last thing I need is a spider splattered across my penthouse windows.''

''That was one time!'' Peter groans. ''Besides, if you were out there _with_ me - ''

''No way. Not happening, kid.''

They compromise. 

No fairy lights, but a projection of Santa on his sleigh that Tony manages to whip up in a couple of hours. It beams into the sky from the landing pad, flickering back and forth so that it swoops round the top of the tower every few minutes, a true beacon of Christmas cheer that sends the local news into a frenzy. 

''This’ll be fun if Thor decides to show up,'' Tony quips later that night as he watches the hologram circle round from inside the penthouse. ''The power surge would probably knock out the entire city.''

''What?''

''He gets jealous. Likes to be the biggest spark in the room.''

''Oh...Do you think he’ll show up?''

Tony doesn’t say anything, inhaling sharply at the chasm of bitter nostalgia that suddenly opens up in his chest. He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly, waiting for the sharpness of it to subside, leaving him able to work a smile onto his face that isn’t totally fake as he looks over at Peter. 

The kid is putting the finishing touches to their tree, eyes fixed on the sparkly trinkets that dangle from carefully chosen points amongst twirls of tinsel and lights. He gives a nod and steps back, head tilting from side to side thoughtfully. 

''Looks good, kid,'' Tony compliments, moving to stand closer. 

''It’s okay,'' Peter says somewhat bashfully. 

It is a bit too bright for Tony’s tastes; too many strings of lights flash in out of sync patterns which glare offensively against the shimmer of the tinsel. But he looks up at the Iron Man and Spider-Man figurines that hang near the top, just below the star, and decides that it’s not so bad. ‘’It’s great, Pete.’’

''Oh! I got one more thing!''

''One more - kid, we’re in danger of summoning gigantic moths at this rate. You want that, huh? Something winged and creepy looking in at you through the window?''

''Deadpool did that last Halloween when he crashed into my window dressed as a bat!'' Peter calls as he hurries out of the room.

Tony barely has time to splutter his disapproval when Peter rushes back in, clutching a plant pot in his hands. 

''Here.''

Tony takes the pot slowly. A thin green stalk pokes out from a bed of soil, only a few inches along, with what looks like a small spiky flower at the end. As Tony turns it to inspect more, he realises that it’s a Venus Flytrap, adorned with a googly-eyed Santa hat and a miniature beard held between the leaves that resemble a mouth. 

''You like him?''

Tony raises an eyebrow. ''Is this meant to be our back up Christmas tree?''

''No,'' Peter laughs. ''It’s like an early present.''

That catches him out. ''You didn’t need to do that, kid.''

''Yeah, I did,'' Peter blurts. ‘’I do. I know it's a bit lame but you...you’ve done so much for me, Mister Stark - ''

''Pete,'' Tony interrupts gently, cradling the plant pot to his chest with one hand as he settles the other on Peter’s shoulder. ''Let’s not do this. You know I’m allergic to this sorta thing.''

''Yeah, but - ''

''You don’t need to - ''

''Yes I do!''

The fierceness of Peter’s voice makes them both jump, the plant pot only saved from a terrible fate by Tony’s firm grip. The shock at his own outburst flickers across Peter’s face before the frustration shines through, tears starting to shine in his eyes. 

''I do. You act like it’s not a big deal, me being here, but it is, Mister Stark,'' he says earnestly. ''You didn’t have to take me in, do all of this - ''

''Jesus, Peter,'' Tony groans, moving his hand from Peter’s shoulder to knuckle his own forehead, sweat breaking out on his palms as his chest tightens harshly. ''Like I’d see you go anywhere else. That wasn’t and never will be an option. I need you to know that. Tell me you know that, kid.''

There’s a pause, a far too long drop in time where Peter says nothing, and it cuts Tony like a knife. 

''I know.''

''Let’s rewind here,’’ Tony sets the pot down by their feet, unwilling to walk towards the table, to be standing any further away from Peter than he is right now. ''All of this,'' he gestures with his hand between their chests, ''there’s not a single thing I’d change about it. You stealing my hoodies and drooling on the couch and eating that god awful box macaroni cheese at stupid hours of the morning,'' he says, lips turning up into a small smile that Peter’s eyes zero in on, ''there’s not one thing that I don’t want, kid.''

He means it so much that he suddenly wants to scream it out the window. Instead, he settles a hand on the back of Peter’s neck, thumb gently kneading the space behind his ear as they lock eyes, Peter’s gaze searching every inch of his own. 

''And, hey, out of the two of us, I think I got the better end of the bargain,'' he forces the humour into his voice even though he means the words, because of all the things he could ever be, worthy of Peter Parker is not one of them. 

''Hate to break it to you, Mister Stark,'' Peter whispers, ''but you’re wrong.''

''I’m never wrong.''

''You’re wrong, like, at least five times a day.''

''That’s slander, Underoos.''

They’re grinning now, weak and tremulous, but very real. 

Peter rubs a hand under his nose and swallows, throat clicking loudly. 

''I’m just...I’m really thankful, Mister Stark. For everything.''

Tony wants to say it back; tell Peter that it’s _him_ that’s thankful. 

Thankful for having the chance of getting closer than he ever thought he might to a kind of joy he’d never trusted himself to have; a life where fulfilment doesn’t just come from tinkering in a lab and saving the world but from knowing Peter is tucked up in bed, safe and sound. 

''Yeah, well,'' Tony sniffs. ''You’re my kid. That’s all there is to it.''

It’s a cruel twist of fate that’s landed them where they are, and a part of Tony hates himself for the happiness that he’s gained because of it, but then a little voice in the back of his head that sounds unnervingly like May tells him that she wouldn’t want it any other way. 

And as Peter’s face fractures a little more under the weight of it all, Tony knows with absolute ironclad certainty that he wouldn’t either.

''Sometimes…'' Peter says, a gentle hitch to his voice, ''sometimes I miss her so much it’s like I can’t breathe. And then other days it’s not so bad, but then I feel guilty because it isn’t bad, that I’m…''

He pauses, eyes closing for a few seconds, like he’s listening to something that Tony can’t hear. 

''Happy,'' he breathes. ''I’m happy here with you, Tony.''

The use of his name does something strange to Tony’s heart. It flips, drops, and then skips into a rapid series of beats that make him pull Peter into his arms with a muttered ''C’mere, buddy.''

Peter goes willingly, pressing his face into Tony’s shoulder and his fingers gripping the back of Tony’s shirt, one heavy tremble running through him before he relaxes with a long sigh. 

''She’d want you to be happy,'' Tony says softly resting his cheek against Peter’s hair, eyes closing as the curls tickle his skin. ''You know that, right?''

''Yeah. Yeah, I know.''

''And you’re allowed to be sad too. It’s good to have a cry every now and then, so Pepper tells me, and I’m not crazy enough to chance arguing with her.''

A laugh tickles Tony’s shoulder and he smiles. ''Yeah, you laugh now, Underoos, but wait until she sees the state of this place. I’ll be banished to the couch for at least a week.''

Peter doesn’t say anything, just nuzzles a little more into Tony’s shirt, 

''Nobody goes wanting the people they leave behind to be sad forever,'' Tony says, choosing his words ever so carefully. ''Except for me, obviously. I expect years of worldwide mourning and giant monuments built in my memory.''

''You wish,'' Peter snorts, leaning back to look up at Tony. There’s a smile on his face now, and Tony can’t resist reaching out to ruffle his hair, hand slipping down to briefly cup his cheek. 

''Come on,'' Tony says after a moment, giving Peter's face a little pat and then leaning down to pick up the plant. ''Let's go find a place for Charlie Brown here.''

''That's a terrible name.''

''It's Christmas themed,'' Tony argues.

''It's still terrible,'' Peter laughs. 

''My plant, my rules.''

In small flashes of darker moments, the ones that sneak up and steal his breath when he least expects it, Tony wonders what would have happened if he’d never met Peter; where the kid would have ended up, where Tony himself might be now if he’d never decided to knock on the front door of the Parker apartment that day.

But he did, and now here they are, four months into a life where sorrow and happiness dance together like old friends, leaving everything raw and delicate but so precious; precious because it means they're still here, alive enough to feel all of it, to experience every up and down and weather all the storms that will inevitably come their way. 

And as he looks at Peter, smiling up at him and bathed in the glow of their first Christmas in this new version of their old lives, tired and worn but still so full of all the things that make him _Peter,_ Tony reckons - Tony _knows_ \- that if they've got each other, they're going to be alright. 

**Author's Note:**

> Charlie Brown is inspired by Charlie the Christmas Venus Flytrap on youtube!
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
